049 - In Futility
by CommanderEeras
Summary: "Don't you realize this is all in futility? A struggle against the endless night. It is inevitable that you will fall, and your people will die. No? Well then, this will be very...interesting." - SCP-049 (Quote taken from interview following one prior concerning {REDACTED} on 1-2#-20##)


**A/N : This will be my first story in a while, after I deleted my old ones. I actually liked how this turned out, although spacing and a few others issues nearly killed me. Yeah. So. Read? I guess?!**

The Pestilence. Your...Foundation, they have encountered it. I did some research, in the beginning after your people attempted to show your farce of the Pestilence, this so called "Black Death" in my face.

In the end, the Plague is as to the Pestilence as an ant to a titan. The Plague is, so very, very, simple. It does not deal with the mind, as the Freemen's Curse does, or with the soul, as the infamous Glerun Virus does. Instead...it's a physical disease. Oh don't get me wrong, it's still so very horrible, but compared to what I have seen, Hells, what I've done!

This world, Earth, is so very blessed. Even with all of it's terrors and nightmares...it is so quiet. The Foundation does an admirable job, even with all it's faults. But it's impossible, at least for the majority, to understand what, at it's core, the Pestilence is. I do not even fully understand it, and I've been doing this for centuries.

Oh, let me endeavor to show you, to try, achingly familiar as it all is, to pull back the veil, and educate once more on the dangers of this hellish sickness.

The Pestilence has three parts. Body. Mind. Soul. You are familiar with the first two types of diseases, although not the last. The beginning stage (taken lightly, as all three can interchange chronologically, and indeed in many cases happen all at once.) has the subject influenced in some ways, though there is not a set pattern. They may weep pus, sweat blood, grow stronger, or break their own bodies by mere movements. It goes on and on and on in this stage. It is impossible to accurately predict.

The second is the mind. The subject grows paranoid, stalwart in their own sureness, and at once dismissing all claims contrary to their thoughts and hearing the whispers of ally and foe plotting against them . They become paradoxically more confident and cowardly, stronger, yet weaker. They may stare an arch-demon down without flinching, but something as simple as hearing a child cry may shatter their minds.

The third, is the soul. The Pestilence whispers, claws, grasps and gently pierces the soul of the subject. The subject slowly, steadily, over a course of months, mayhaps even years, slips into debauchery. The very...makeup, I suppose you could say, of a person's soul is changed. The most religious saint might become an avid rapist or murderer, or even both. This stage is, without a doubt, the most dangerous, as the Pestilence spreads via proximity to all organic lifeforms with a soul near the subject.

The Pestilence infects the body, shatters the mind, and wounds the soul. It may take years, but the Pestilence will eventually seize the subject's body, suddenly, explosively, creating a portal to a nether-realm that begins corrupting the surrounding area, while providing a doorway for eldritch beings into this realm. It can also simply corrupt the subject physically, _turning them into a thrice-damned warrior for it's armies!_

I apologize for being emotional Doctor. What I have seen... Gods; **What I have seen.**

My cure is in the works, oh so close. I cleanse the body, mend the mind, and heal the soul. My work is so very close to being completed! I, and I alone can tell a Plague-Bearer at mere sight. I can see into the very soul of a person, and manipulate it with my tools. I do not know what manner of being, creature, or thing blessed me with this ability, but yet I can.

And yet. _And yet_. I can cleanse the body, but the Pestilence will leave it's mark. I can mend the mind, but I can not fix the all-consuming rage the Pestilence leaves in it's wake. I can heal the soul, but I can help not those lost, severed from their very being.

The Pestilence knows what I am, what I do. Why else do you think that the Cured don't attack me, cursed yet by the Pestilence as they are? This is all a game to it. I strive against an inevitable end, as you do. Either we work together in this Doctor, or we all fall down. This verdant world will turn to _naught but lifeless ash_ , the Pestilence will consume this world's life, and conscript the so-called "Keters" of this world into it's endless legions of the eternally damned!

It has happened before. It will happen again. But there will always be the vigilant, valiant few fighting back against the unholy demonic hordes like you and me, Doctor; after all, where do your think your motto came from?

 _ **Secure Contain Protect**_  
 _ **The Sick The Cursed The Pure**_


End file.
